


A Bite Of Something Sweet

by Unread



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Tenderness, wound care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 15:44:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21412651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unread/pseuds/Unread
Summary: Thomas woke to the smell of the sickroom. His leg—whatever remained of it, at least—was afire with sheer, bloody agony, which he supposed was what had awoken him. He made himself look down the length of his body, but saw only the blanket covering him...and an awful dip where there shouldn’t be one.
Relationships: Thomas Blanky/Dr Alexander McDonald
Comments: 9
Kudos: 47
Collections: The Terror Rarepair Week 2019





	A Bite Of Something Sweet

**Author's Note:**

> For The Terror Rarepair Week: Tender Tuesday. It actually could fit with all of the day's prompts...if you squint a little :D
> 
> (Please excuse the handwavy medical stuff, I know nothing)

Thomas woke to the smell of the sickroom. His leg—whatever remained of it, at least—was afire with sheer, bloody agony, which he supposed was what had awoken him. He made himself look down the length of his body, but saw only the blanket covering him...and an awful dip where there shouldn’t be one. He let his head fall back against the pillow and couldn’t suppress a grunt of pain. He felt weak too, weaker than he ever had in his life, and he begun to wish he’d stayed asleep.  
  
Doctor McDonald’s face hove suddenly into view. “Nice to have you back with us, Mr Blanky,” he said in his soft Scottish lilt, a gentile smile playing on his features.  
  
“How long’ve I been out?” Thomas asked. His voice sounded raspy—his throat was parched, he realised.  
  
“Oh, going on two days now. Let me help you sit up, if you can manage it.” Together, they shifted him upright so he could lean with his back against the bulkhead. The effort left him gasping and shuddering in pain. Doctor McDonald’s expression was all soft sympathy as he poured water into a cup and handed it to Thomas. The pity should perhaps have grated on him, but somehow it didn’t.  
  
After he’d quenched his dry throat, Doctor McDonald asked, “How do you feel?”  
  
Thomas grimaced and said, “Like my leg was ripped up by some fantastical beast and then cut off by a kindly doctor."  
  
McDonald’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled at Thomas. “Well, at least your memory seems quite intact, and I’ll thank you for the compliment.”  
  
“I’m sure if any of your past patients had woken up and said that, you’d be questioning the soundness of their mind, doctor.”  
  
“I’ll have you know I’m considered quite kindly by my patients. Most of the time, anyway,” McDonald said, the twinkle still in his eyes. “Your mind seems very sound to me, Mr Blanky.”  
  
Thomas felt a little buoyed, the dark blanket of pain and the prospect of being crippled lifting ever so slightly. Kindly indeed. He was suddenly very relieved that it was Doctor McDonald who was berthed on _Terror_, and not Doctor Stanley. He’d heard enough muttered complaints amongst the Erebites about the man’s bedside manner as to feel his luck in that regard.  
  
“How does Francis fare, then? Still cross with me?” Thomas said it in jest, but he knew his friend’s mind well. Francis was very skilled at holding long, quiet grudges.  
  
McDonald’s expression shifted into seriousness. “He’s quite unwell at the present moment.” At Thomas’s surprised and concerned look, the doctor continued, “He’s given up the liquor, and it’s taking a toll on him. But I have no doubt he’ll come through it well enough. He’s a stubborn one.”  
  
Thomas couldn't hide his astonishment, and didn't bother to. He’d known for some time now that Francis was heading down a dark path with the bottle, but this turn was unexpected. “He’s given it up? When the bloody hell did this happen?”  
  
McDonald’s eyebrows rose, and he nodded pointedly to Thomas’s absent left leg. “Why, about the same time that did, Mr Blanky.”  
  
Thomas was speechless for a few moments, as he absorbed the full meaning of it. Then he asked, rather subdued, “How is he, Doctor? Tell me truly.”  
  
“I wouldn’t tell you otherwise. He’s struggling, but Mr Jopson has him well in hand, don’t you worry. He’ll have a hard road ahead of him in the next couple of weeks. But then, so will you.”  
  
Thomas sighed and leaned his head back against the wall. “Never thought the old bastard would willingly give the whiskey up.”  
  
“He called us all in and handed over command to Captain Fitzjames, and his sidearm to Lieutenant Little. Said he wasn’t to have either of them back until he was on deck in full uniform.”  
  
Thomas let out a breath. “Well, bugger me to hell and back.”  
  
Doctor McDonald gave him an amused, wry smile. “We were all rather astonished. Your near death was a severe shock to him.”  
  
“My near death,” Thomas repeated, a little surprised at the concept. It hadn’t felt like nearly dying, in the moment. It had felt like _living_, fighting with every ounce of his being. “That damned beast almost got me, didn’t it?”  
  
McDonald’s eyes met his own rather solemnly, and Thomas realised then that they were very blue. An odd thing to notice at a time like this. “Yes, it almost did, Mr Blanky. I’m very glad you are still with us.”  
  
Thomas snorted. “Aye, most of me anyway.”  
  
“The most important parts, I’ve no doubt,” McDonald said, and the twinkle was back in his eyes. It settled Thomas once again, and he wondered whether this was some kind of unknowable physician skill McDonald had, calming patients with a look, or if Thomas was simply susceptible to it in particular. He’d always liked the man; it would be impossible not to like him, unless you were Doctor Stanley and didn’t like anything on God’s green bloody earth. “Now, Mr Blanky, you’re due for a dressing change, and I’d like you to have another dose of laudanum as there’ll be some pain.”  
  
“There’s some pain now, Doctor,” Thomas grunted. “Do your worst.”  
  
“I’d rather hoped to do better than that,” McDonald said, smiling softly again and handing him a tiny metal cup full of liquid.  
  
Thomas downed the dark, bitter tincture in one go, and then watched as McDonald made his preparations, laying out bandages, scissors, and bottles on a nearby table.  
  
“You want me lying down for this, then?” Thomas asked, not without some trepidation. He rather thought being unconscious for the previous treatments to his leg had been the right way to go about it.  
  
“No, so long as you’re comfortable in your current position.”  
  
“As comfortable as I’ll ever be, Doctor.”  
  
“Well then,” McDonald said, and drew back the blanket. Thomas couldn’t help but immediately stare at the stump as if it had a magnetic pull on his eyes, even heavily swaddled in bandages as it was. He forced himself not to look away as McDonald unwrapped it, but he let out a sharp breath when the puckered, stitched, weeping wound was revealed. It wasn’t simply the pain of it, but the _loss_ that caused him the true blow. Thankfully McDonald seemed to understand, and pretended to ignore Thomas as he was momentarily overcome by the grief of it. Bloody foolishness, to be grieving over himself, but it took hold of him regardless.  
  
“It’s begun healing quite nicely,” McDonald said, his eyes only on Thomas’s leg as if to give him a moment’s privacy. He turned around to gather things from his little table, fiddling with his potions and powders while Thomas sat there staring at his damned leg. He could almost feel his left toes wiggling, which was impossible. He wondered then what had happened to it, the torn up remains of his leg, and whether it had been put into a fancy coffin like Sir John’s. Not bloody likely. The thought made him snort.  
  
McDonald turned to him with a curious, raised eyebrow. “Something amusing?”  
  
He shook his head, wondering at the state of his own mind. “It’s strange...it’s almost like it’s still there, like I can still feel the blasted thing.”  
  
“It’s quite a common experience with amputated limbs, Mr Blanky, never fear.” McDonald sent him a consoling glance. He held a soaked cotton cloth in his hand. “Now hold still, this will sting I’m afraid.”  
  
And sting it did, as McDonald swabbed at his leg with some sort of strong-smelling medicine. Thomas was gritting his teeth and sweating by the end of it, no matter the laudanum that was starting to make his mind feel thick and heavy.  
  
“Almost done, Mr Blanky,” came McDonald’s soft voice, and Thomas could feel gentle hands bandaging his leg back up. He realised that his eyes had closed themselves, and he forced himself back awake.  
  
“After all that, doctor,” Thomas said, with a torpidity he couldn't seem to shake. “I think you’d better call me Thomas.” He gave the good doctor a sluggish grin.  
  
McDonald smiled his kindly smile as he helped Thomas lie back down again, more easily this time. There seemed to be a bit of colour in the doctor’s fair cheeks all of a sudden, or perhaps Thomas’s mind truly was going. Well, that was definitely a better place for it to go, if it must. “Well then, Thomas. You can call me Alexander, if you’d like. It’s rare to hear my own name, I must admit. Even my colleagues call me 'doctor'."  
  
“We can't have that, can we?” Thomas said, still grinning as his eyes fell closed again. “Alexander.”


End file.
